


So I met this army doctor today

by Saltylocks



Series: Salty + Sherlock [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Anal Fingering, Angst, Angst and Porn, Asexual Sherlock, Delta-dynamics, Dubious Science, Fake Science, Gamma - Freeform, Gloves, John-centric, Johnlock - Freeform, Kinda, Knotting, Lab Coat, Lab Sex, Latex, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, No one is an alpha or a beta or an omega, Null - Freeform, Omega Verse, Orgasm, Science, Science Experiments, Self-Lubrication, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 19:41:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2440556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saltylocks/pseuds/Saltylocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is a Delta – a rare condition where he goes into heat and rut at the same time. Posing as an Alpha and never feeling fully satisfied, he figures that moving in with the null (a far less rare condition) consulting detective Sherlock Holmes will be fine.</p><p>Things work out fine until a couple of months later, when John comes home soaking his trousers, a rouge heat-rut on the way, and it's a bad one this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So I met this army doctor today

**Author's Note:**

> Okay guys I don't know if this is already a thing, but I had this idea of incorporating a Delta in the A/B/O-dynamic. 
> 
> In this world, less Alphas and omegas are born in the 21st century than ever before, only one in fifty and most of them takes Betas (ordinary people, no heat or rut) as lovers because of the rarity, and just live their whole lives trying to blend in as Beta. 
> 
> Alphas and omegas are discriminated against in all walks of life, in school, military and the workplace, even though most of them doesn't lose all sense because they go into a rut or heat. Alphas are generally thought of and displayed in media as brainless, ruthless hunks of muscle ready to knot everything that moves, and omegas as little dainty, weak women who are just begging to be knotted(even though the A/O-gene does not discriminate and both men and women can be born either Alpha or omega). 
> 
> There is also people identifying as "null" or 0, as they does not have a sexual alignment at all, and not experience either heat, ruts or sexual attraction. 
> 
> Generally, only an Alpha can smell and claim an Omega, and vice verse. It's the general consensus that being either an Omega or Alpha is difficult and troublesome. If you don't have a family member who is Alpha or Omega, most Betas aren't even aware of the struggle that Alphas and Omegas have to face every day.
> 
> So, given all this, enter John Watson, who is not an Alpha, not an Omega, but a Delta, a person who experience ruts and heat at the same time.
> 
> Edit: Thanks to learninghowtobreathe for pointing out some typos - they are all changed now.

John Watson had told everyone he was an Alpha ever since he presented in puberty. What he hadn't told anyone, ever, was that as his cock knots he also wanted to be filled up completely: that he needs another Alpha's knot to be fully satisfied, though he will barely admit it, even to himself.

He had gone into the medical profession at a young age because he was curious of his body. College was, as for many others, a way to figure out what his body could do and needed, but John kept his alignment known as strictly Alpha. He joined the army to get away from it as much as his sense of duty, but after he had enlisted, he had been subjected to the same discrimination as always, and immediately ordered to start on suppressants. 

“We don't want any of our soldiers going all Alpha-berserk on the enemy,” his superiors explained, and John had silently obliged. After being shot in the shoulder and sent home, he found he didn't have the rut-heats any more, not any of it, and he stopped taking the suppressants entirely. He had never worried about this before, but now it sent him reeling, fretting and fidgeting in his psychologist's office.

“What if I never experience a... a rut again?” he said, swallowing hard. “Who would want an Alpha without the ability to rut?”

His psychologist smiled reassuringly. He wondered what the Beta woman saw when she looked at him. A man too old to worry about conceiving anyway? A broken Alpha? Or, as he suspected, a man who was broken from the day his Alpha genes had kicked in as he laid in his mother's womb? His head buzzed and he tried to get his fingers to stop moving.

“...time,” Lynda said, and he had to shake his head to hear what she was saying. She looked at him and he felt his ears turn red.

“Pardon,” he mumbled, “I didn't catch that.”

“I said, these things takes time,” she repeated, and reached out to put her hand on his knee. “I know it's a silly sentiment, but you have been under a lot of pressure, and sometimes the body needs to heal. You have to find something to do that makes you feel like yourself, things that make you feel at peace, and I'm sure it will sort itself out.”

Despite how soothing her touch felt, John couldn't help but snort at her. The only time he had felt at ease were in the field, taking care of the wounded, making a difference. When he told her, the Beta smiled again, and he hated her a little for how smug she looked.

“I'm sure there are other activities you can find just as thrilling as a field physician. Have you found a new job yet?”

John squirmed in his seat. He had asked around but no one seemed to be hiring, or even looked remotely interested in the prospect of taking on an Alpha army doctor, no matter what credentials attested to his competence. Not that he could blame them, really.

“How about finding a new apartment?” Lynda asked, as he shook his head slightly.

“Haven't yet,” John breathed. His hands wouldn't stop twitching. He couldn't afford his apartment on his small army pension, but no one would hire an old wounded ex-millitary doctor, let alone live with one. Lynda took a long minute to look at him, as he tried to get the tightness in his chest to disappear.

“You know I can't help you if you don't put in the effort,” she said, “but I asked around and found an old college friend of mine, Sarah, who wanted you to meet you for an interview. If I give you her number, will you call her?”

John knew he should have seemed excited at the thought, and he really tried, because he knew Lynda had no obligation to help him. But a small voice in his head nagged him about being so lost he couldn't even find work on his own, relying on his shrink to help him. 

“Thank you,” he choked out. 

“No problem,” Lynda smiled and handed him a tissue.

ooo~ooo

“John Watson! John!”

“Oh, Mike, um...hi.”

“It's good to see you, buddy,” Mike Stamford bellowed happily, and John almost managed to smile back. The Omega was one of his oldest friends, and heavily pregnant.

“Mike, good to see you too,” John said, and then “Are you expecting?” 

“Yeah, who could have guessed, right?” 

Mike patted his abdomen and looked possibly blissed out. John was happy for him because it meant he must have found a suitable Alpha to knock him up, but the look on his friend's face made him feel like he had been shot all over again. He was embarrassingly jealous of Mike's happiness.

They spoke some more and Mike soon learned about John's difficulty to find a proper apartment.

“I hope I find something soon,” John said, “but who'd want to live with me, anyway?”

Mike smiled and got to his feet in a surprisingly short amount of time for someone so heavy. John thought he was leaving, but his friend just waved at him to follow.

“It's funny, you are the second person to ask me that today. Come on.”

ooo~ooo

The man at the microscope barely looked up as Mike and John entered the laboratory. He wore a long wool coat and a blue scarf, and John waited for the smell to hit him, the scent that all humans had, and could categorize each other by instantly, as Alpha, Beta or Omega. With this person, however, John came up short. There was the smell of soap and something vaguely perfumy, clean, but nothing more. The curly man could just as well have been part of the furniture. John was so taken aback he flared his nostrils in a not so subtle whiff, which of course caught the man's attention and made him look up with an unreadable expression. 

“Mike, you can't bring visitors in here,” he said in a low, dismissive voice, still glaring at John. His eyes were a light turquoise that stood out against the dark curls falling down his forehead, and the army doctor jolted back, feeling his ears reddening for the third time that day.

“Sorry,” John said. 

The man looked past him at Mike, exchanging a quick roll of his eyes, and then back to John.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?” he asked, his voice neutral.

John gave Mike a wary look. His pregnant friend had told him of the man on the way over. Said he was a bit of an eccentric, and lived in central London somewhere, Mike wasn't quite sure. Sherlock was a consulting detective, an avid beekeeper and dabbled in all sorts of other things to occupy his time.

“One morning, I come down to the lab at St. Bart's, and there he is, injecting himself with yellow fever. He was fine, don't worry, but for a couple of days he didn't come in and when he did, he looked like he hadn't eaten in a month. Not long after that, he tested how many nicotine patches he could put on his arms before he felt it's effects, and how long it took before they wore off. He fainted and scared Dr Hooper, one of the newer physicians, half to death.”

John had only nodded, and faced now, with this man, he could see the why everyone seemed to want to know more about him. He was a mystery, from his blue eyes down to his scent. John was instantly drawn in, curious, wanting to know more. And Mike seemed to think he was fine, giving John a encouraging nod.

“How did you know I were in...”

“Tanlines on your arms and neck, your stance, the haircut, and the fact that you smell of dirt, sand and metal. Afghanistan or Iraq?”

Oh, so he was allowed to smell all that on him and give nothing back? It wasn't fair. But still impressive, most people didn't even look at him more than a second. John felt a interested warmth in the pit of his stomach, strictly professional, of course. 

“Iraq. That was quite brilliant, deducing all that.”

The curly man glanced up for a brief moment, sucking in his lip. Not used to compliments, John thought, surprised. 

The silence lingered for too long, and finally Mike broke it.

“Sherlock, John Watson here is an old friend of mine and he needs a place to live.”

Sherlock didn't take his eyes off the microscope but he sat up a little straighter, his hands jotting down notes in an atrocious handwriting.

“And, I was thinking,” Mike continued, unwavering,” maybe he could live with you? You said you needed a flatmate.”

Sherlock gave his notes a look, then stared into thin air for a moment, then abruptly got up from the barstool he had been sitting on and started buttoning his coat. 

“I have to go!” he proclaimed and opened the door. Mike looked a little irritated and shouted after him.

“Sherlock, what about...!”

The slim man stopped just outside the room, leaning back in and frowning at John.

“The address is 221B Baker street, meet me there tomorrow at noon. Gentlemen.”

He winked at John and then, he was gone. John noticed he had been holding his breath and exhaled slowly. Mike rolled his eyes at the door and John shrugged. It was a start.

ooo~ooo

“Hello, I'm Mrs. Hudson. And I'm not your housekeeper, whatever he says.”

John shook Mrs. Hudson's dry little hand. She smelled like old Beta and baby powder. Sherlock snorted but the supporting hand he'd laid on her shoulder told John that they were good friends. 

“Sherlock tells me you were in the army?” she continued as they walked up the stairs. 

“Yes, I am an field doctor,” John said. “Or, I was.” 

Mrs Hudson did a sweeping movement to indicate the living room and kitchen. There was a bathroom and a bedroom down the hall and a second bedroom and a small bathroom on the third floor, where John would live. John knew he wanted to live there even before he heard that the rent would be almost a third of what he paid at the moment. His leg would be an issue, but it was worth it.

“It's psychosomatic, you know,” Sherlock murmured as they stood out in the cold of night, having agreed that John could move his things in the following day.

“Pardon?”

“Your leg. It's psychosomatic.”

John shrugged.

“That's what they keep telling me,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “My therapist says we'll focus on one thing at a time.”

“I see.”

Sherlock looked at him again. John didn't know what to say. 

“Thank you, for...,” he started.

“Do you want to eat...,” Sherlock said at the same time.

“...everything.”

“...something?”

They looked at each other and then smiled, small and genuine. 

“Dinner sounds fantastic,” John admitted.

“There is this little Italian place over there...”

They ended up at a little corner window, overlooking the street. As they entered they were met by the owner who turned out to be one of Sherlock's old clients and let them have anything on the menu for free. 

“Anything for you and your date,” the bearded Alpha said and winked at John.

“Oh, I'm not his...” John started but the man had already disappeared.

Sherlock immediately claimed the spot against the wall with full view of the restaurant. John looked around for any kind of threat but saw none, only a few Beta couples in the mostly empty restaurant. 

“Are you worried something might happen?” John asked. 

“Something always happen, doctor Watson,” Sherlock answered in a low voice.

John couldn't help inhaling, tasting the air around them. He could smell all the other guests and waiters in the restaurant, their alignment and their sex, and almost always if they were angry or happy too. He suspected it was due to the fact that he was an anomaly himself. With Sherlock, he came up empty and it was a bit weird. He could smell the detergent from his clothes, the soap he used, bleach from the sterile surfaces of the lab, and that was it. He frowned, and then noticed that Sherlock no longer studied the other guests but John instead.

“You have been sucking in air very suspiciously for the last couple of minutes now,” he observed.

“It's your scent,” John said.

“What about it?” Sherlock said, businesslike.

“It isn't there.”

Sherlock nodded. 

“It never has been. I register very low on the Kinsey A/O Scale. No sexual attraction whatsoever.”

John nodded, stunned at how casual he seemed about it. 

“If I was so obvious about it, I apologize. I just... never met anyone like you,” the army doctor blurted.

Sherlock's grin made him know that he was not so easily offended. 

“You are refreshingly honest. No need to apologize, doctor Watson.”

“Please, call me John. We are going to be living together after all.”

Sherlock lifted an eyebrow and then nodded.

“John,” he murmured, and John felt the warmth in his stomach grow larger.

Then there was some commotion on the street, a chase around London, and John ended up leaving his cane in that little diner. When he got it back, his lungs burning and feet aching, he felt nothing but joy. This was where he belonged. 

ooo~ooo

“So how are you doing today, John?” 

Lynda looked at him with hopeful eyes and he gave her an light smile back, his whole body shining.

“Fine, fine,” he said. 

“No cane today, I see.”

“I don't think I need it anymore.”

“Really?” she asked, astonished.

“Really,” he said and smiled again.

“What's changed since we last spoke?”

John told her about meeting Mike, Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson. He didn't have much, and had quickly settled in at 221B. Lynda smiled as he mentioned that he also had swung by Sarah's clinic and that he thought she had hired him right away. 

“How do you feel compared to when we last spoke?” Lynda asked, and John smiled again because he knew this were shrink-speech for 'you look a lot happier than last time'.

“I feel...,” he said, “happier, stronger, healthier. Like I've found a life where each new morning have a reason to get out of my bed and go through the day.”

“That sounds wonderful, John,” the Beta said softly.

“It is,” John said.

He wasn't ready to tell her that the person he wanted to get up and see each day was his flatmate and friend, Sherlock Holmes. He thought about it as he walked from her office. It was a cold day, but he didn't really feel it. His skin hummed in the cold autumn air and he felt elevated. Maybe it was all the colours on the trees, all those yellows and reds.

Sherlock didn't have any interest in a sexual relationship. He had said so himself, Mr. “Not-on-the-Kinsey-scale”. They had fallen into this nice pace at home. It wasn't perfect or anything, but John thought it was nice after serving at the line of duty. The fact that Sherlock took on clients was exhilarating, a welcome break from his work at the clinic, and they were an excellent team. When they had a calm evening Sherlock would even break out his violin, an instrument he'd made himself, and play while figuring out a case. John liked it. And he liked Sherlock, and trying to figure him out. Sometimes he thought he could smell a little bit off him, a scent like fallen rain and ozone, it was faint but enough to identify his friend with.

John couldn't help but feel protective of the detective, no matter what alignment he had. He had heard the police talking behind Sherlock's back, and calling him freak, even to his face. He always wanted to fight them, broken or not, but Sherlock sensed it and dragged him away from Anderson and Sally. 

“John, it's not worth the energy,” he said, glaring back at them as they laughed.

“They ask for your help and then they call you names,” John huffed. “Seriously, you can't win with these people!”

“I don't care about them,” Sherlock said, looking away. “I only care about solving the case and helping the victims.”

Thinking back on that moment, Sherlock so close John could feel his breath on his mouth, made something churn deep inside the doctor. He walked a little slower, was he sweating? And his pants felt damp...

“Oh damn,” John thought, and started walking faster again. “Damn, damn, damn!” 

It had almost been a year without suppressants, and he had never been sweating before a heat. He knew from medical textbooks that the first heat after going off suppressants could be difficult, but he instinctively knew he was in more trouble than that. 

The clinic's secretary answered at the third ring. 

“Hi, Diane speaking.”

“Hi, this is doctor Watson, I need to go on rut leave for the next week. Terribly sorry.”

God, he could hear her quiver over the phone, his voice must have come out more raspy then he realized. 

“Y-yes of course, right away, doctor!” she squeaked.

“Thank you, Diane,” he said, trying to get himself under control.

“Doctor? Call me if... if you need anything, okay?”

“Yes, of course, Diane,” he mumbled, already home in his mind.

“Anything.”

“Yes, thank you, Diane, bye.”

It was after he'd hung up that he realized what she'd meant. She was an Omega, he was presumably an Alpha. She could have been on her way over right now. 

Well, maybe next time. John cursed as he slowly got more and more soaked and hard as he hurried home. The doctor hoped Sherlock wasn't in the flat, catching him at such a low point. He needed to get on the suppressants again he thought as he ran up the stairs to the living room. 

“Watson?”

The doctor froze on the top step. Sherlock was peeking out under a bunch of blankets, his eyes drowsy and his hair tousled from sleeping all day on the sofa. He looked alert, interested, like when a case he deemed worthy of his time showed up at their door. John could feel himself hardening just by looking at his friend, the turquoise eyes, the curls. His whole mid section felt like it gravitated towards Sherlock like a magnet. It was not good. So not good at all. And yet, he couldn't bring himself to move, only blush and fidget with his sweater.

Sherlock crept out of the sofa with his eyes on John, like a panther on the prowl. He was wearing his lab coat and some jeans, but his chest and feet were bare.

“What happened to you?” he asked, incredulous.

“My rut,” John panted, taking a small step back from the pajama clad man who towered over him. “I haven't had one for a while and now it is...”

He stopped to shiver as Sherlock very carefully, very gently, lowered his head to his neck and inhaled.

“You don't smell Alpha, or Omega,” Sherlock pointed out in a whisper.

“I am aware,” John growled, his nose only inches from Sherlock's neck. He had to ball his fists to not give in and bite into the lean neck muscle, claim his friend like some wild animal. He had been in the army, he was a doctor, he could fight these urges. Sherlock's scent, the faint smell of ozone, seemed to be easier for him to catch when he was in rut-heat, and it filled his nostrils, made him close his eyes and just breathe it in.

“May I examine you?” Sherlock said, a intimate hum in his voice. 

“Anything,” John breathed and looked up, dazed. Then he realized who he was speaking to and corrected himself as Sherlock gave him a grin. “I mean, you can do anything you like... to me. Wait, that didn't come out right...”

Sherlock laughed, a low chuckle deep in his throat.

“Take off your coat and gloves, I won't be long,” he said. 

Sherlock soon came back with a towel and insisted that John should sit on the kitchen counter, with the towel under him. John agreed, but realized he had a difficult time remaining still. Everything itched, his wool sweater, the trousers, the socks... His jeans were soaked through and through and he couldn't help himself to rub a little against them and breathe heavier as he felt the friction against his skin. He had to get upstairs soon, he knew he had an Alpha fleshlight in the nightstand and an Omega vibrator with a knot at the end of it. With those, he could get through this rut. When it was over he could get suppressants and everything would go back to normal.

“John?” 

He looked up to meet Sherlock's eyes, so close to him. He balled his fists again, feeling Sherlock's non-scent perforate his mind.

“Are you sure you are not an Omega?” Sherlock asked. “You are showing all the signs – your pupils are huge, you are lubricating...”

“Well,” John drawled, not bothering to hide his rutting against the counter, “last time I checked, Omegas like to get knotted, but they do not form knots.”

Sherlock's eyes went even bigger, and he wet his lips.

“May I touch you?” he asked, his hands covered in blue latex gloves. As John nodded, his friend put his cold hands against John's body. It made John freeze up at first, but then slowly relax again. He could feel his cock strain against the damp fabric, longed to touch himself but not wanting Sherlock to let go of him. Sherlock poked at his scent gland behind the ear, sniffed at it experimentally. It made John tremble with anticipation, aroused and annoyed at the same time.

“Why don't you just lick at it while you're at it?” he dared, just to let out some frustration.

Sherlock's tongue was on him a second later and John couldn't help but let out a moan and jolt away. Sherlock hadn't let go of him, but rather clamped down tightly around his arms, keeping John in place. John slowly relaxed again, slumping against Sherlock. 

“I guess I didn't think you were so thorough with your research,” he gasped against his friend's chest. Sherlock chuckled, and John was glad Sherlock didn't smell of Alpha or Omega, he wouldn't even have been able to control himself if his friend were a Beta, not with the amount of amorous feelings he had for the man. John moved back a bit, straightening up, trying to clear his head. Sherlock had nothing more than a scientific curiosity for him, nothing else. 

“Will you take your sweater off for me please?”

John shot Sherlock a look. Sherlock looked slightly flustered, his pale cheeks a healthy red and his eyes drowsy. But it might just be because he was excited over John's medical anomalies, not actual interest in John as a person. Still, John hurriedly shrugged out of the sweater and white t-shirt. Sitting there, he felt cold all over, the sweat cooling his body until he began to shudder. Sherlock kept poking at him, checking his temperature, pinching at his body fat, asking him to lift his arms. John was rutting vigorously against the table now, eyes closed, trying not to picture Sherlock's long slender fingers prodding the more sensitive areas of his physique.

Not that it mattered. John were sensitive all over, half mad with shivers and ruts. The muscles in his abdomen clenched, ready for a big hard Alpha cock, or at least the vibrator in his room. He could not focus on it too long, or his mind would drift and imagine Sherlock being attached to that vibrator, that he somehow would be the one thrusting into John, or lip at the tip of his big, hard...

“Lie down, please,” came Sherlock's dispassionate voice floating towards him. John fell back without a sound, only a whimper as the pressure shifted away from his soaked ass.

“Remove your trousers, please.”

“Lie down, take off your trousers...,” panted John, mimicking his friend. “If I didn't know better I think you were going to take advantage of me.”

Sherlock smiled, John could tell without opening his eyes, he could see Sherlock's smile inside his eyelids. 

“That strategy will not work on me again, I'm afraid.”

“Too bad,” John mumbled, trying not to touch his straining cock as he unbuckled and pushed his jeans off the counter. He could hear them make a little soggy sound when they hit the floor and dimly wondered if he would be able to remove them before Mrs. Hudson made her usual rounds. But he didn't want to think about Mrs. Hudson now, as Sherlock resumed his prodding in those sensitive areas John had hoped for earlier.The counter was cold under him but he didn't mind it on his heat-stricken body.

“When did you first find out you had both Alpha and Omega genitalia?” he heard Sherlock ask. He could feel Sherlock's breath on his stomach and felt tiny goosebumps rise up as though reaching for the detective.

“I a-always knew, before puberty, maybe when I was ten years old. It was in med school that I first knew the name for it, Delta-alignment.”

“I've never heard of it,” Sherlock said, the curiosity in his voice back.

“I suppose not,” John said, trying to keep his body still and failing miserably. “It is rather hard to come by i-if you don't know what you are looking f-for.” 

John's head was swimming, his body clenched and unclenched rhythmically, he curled his toes and fingers hard and was painfully aware of how hard his cock were and he was pretty sure it was poking out through he rim of his boxers. When Sherlock moved closer and his hot breath reached the tip of the cock, John whimpered loudly.

“Please,” he rasped out, “I need something here, if you want to keep me on this table...”

He hoped Sherlock wanted to keep him there, God, please, let this day not end in total disaster, please...

“I will not let you go, John.”

John blinked, had he said those things out loud? 

“I am not done with you, I wish to do more testing, see how you react. Can I expect your co-operation on this?”

John thought he must have passed out and was dreaming, or hallucinating. Sherlock was flushed, his cheeks a deep red and his eyes glossy and hodded. 

“Yes,” John said, eager for whatever let him stay in Sherlock's presence, in Sherlock's hands.

“Good,” the detective purred, moving closer, edging in between John's legs. He carefully inserted one finger around the rim of his boxers and another at the leg, easing John's cock free from the fabric, letting the underwear fall on top of the trousers with a wet sound. 

“Sherlock, if you don't want to...,” John began, “I know you do not feel any desire, you don't have to, just say the word...”

“I want to study you, my dear doctor,” Sherlock hummed in a unworried voice, “and if it makes you feel good in the process... Well, what's the harm in that?” 

John felt like he should have argued more but at that moment he felt Sherlock's long slim fingers run over his cleft, with feather light, ghostly touches. John buckled instinctively, a low growl in his throat.

“John, I expect some level of self-restraint from you,” Sherlock warned him. “I know I do not smell like a suitable mate, but that doesn't mean you might try to bite me. I can not stress this enough: no biting.”

“Fine, that's fine, Sherlock, ah, just...don't stop.”

Sherlock began stroking faster, the latex gloves grinding against John's most sensitive areas. He moaned with pleasure, almost crying from the sheer pleasure of being touched, finally being touched, by his flatmate, his Sherlock. 

When the first finger started to push a little further at his self-lubricated entrance, he wished he could suck Sherlock's finger inside. The first finger fit easily, a second as well, and at the third he was writhing on the table, bucking his hips, trying to rock up at his detective's hand inside him. He felt no where near as full as he knew he could be, his insides fluttering, wanting more, craving more. His cock was slapping him as he rocked up, hard and full and he wish he had something to meet it. Sherlock was panting, not able to keep up, but gripping at John's cock non the less. John thought Sherlock was going to jerk him of, but then he felt a warm tongue wrap around his head. Sherlock's mouth soon followed and John couldn't help but thrust up into that warm wetness. 

“You are going to get... all kinds of results, if you keep this going,” John groaned.

“I want to be thorough,” Sherlock mumbled against his tip, licking against his length. The lubrication doubled, but he knew he couldn't come like this.

“Sherlock,” he whimpered, “please, it's not enough, I need a...a...” 

“What do you need?”

John almost sobbed from how good and frustrating it was at the same time. 

“I need something to fill or fill me up,” he panted, “There is an Omega vibrator in the top drawer if my nightstand...”

Sherlock pulled out his fingers so fast John was left gasping for air, it hurt like a marathon hurt your lungs. He curled up his legs and actually sobbed, moaning in frustration.

“Sorry,” Sherlock said. “I'll be right back.”

John snarled at him and Sherlock bounced off, looking more excited than he had ever done before. John couldn't help but laugh a little as he heard Sherlock rummaging through the drawer and bolting down the stairs again. When he came back he looked slightly worried.

“I can not honestly see how this is going to fit inside you,” he said, holding the curved, slightly oval vibrator in his hands. It was easily as wide as his underarm.

As John saw it his min started going yesyesyesyesyes with every heightened heartbeat and he reached for it.

“It hasn't been an issue before,” John panted, “please, I just need a little more preparation.”

Sherlock put down the vibrator and touched John along his arms and legs again. His chest was heaving, and when Sherlock pushed down his cleft and inside with his fingers, John moaned.

“Please... I'm ready, Sherlock, I need it, I need it...”

Sherlock grabbed the vibrator and pressed it against John's cleft. His whimpers turned into low growls as Sherlock pushed the dildo inside. When it was halfway inside John, Sherlock pulled out almost completely, and then pressed in again. The vibrator slid in to the hilt, and John growled around the heavy fullness, writhing as his cock leaked. Still, something was missing. Sherlock noticed a little button on the end and pressed it. The vibrator started swelling at the base, slowly filling and move inside John. Sherlock watched as the undulations made the knot on John's cock swell up. The detective waited, but nothing happened. John looked possibly blissed out, but he was stuck, there was nowhere to go. His hips thrusted into thin air, wanting more, and Sherlock caught them with his hands, with his mouth, and devoured the Alpha cock. 

Hot cum filled Sherlock's mouth a second later and he kept his hands on John's spewing member as he spat and licked his lips. He watched his friend writhe on the table and felt excited. When he'd let the army doctor move in with him, he had never believed this would happen. And that it would be so enjoyable for him as well. Seeing his flatmate stretched out on their kitchen counter, the biggest vibrator he had ever seen showed inside, coming in massive amounts over himself and in Sherlock's mouth... it did something for the detective too. And it wasn't only the joy of scientific progress either. Having control over someone else's orgasms, see them writhing beneath you, pleasing them or denying them pleasure... Sherlock could certainly see the appeal. 

He mimicked the pressure of an Omega's rim and kept his hand on John as his cock stopped sending out semen and his friend relaxed against the counter, looking deliciously wrung out.

“Sherlock,” John breathed, “that was possibly the best orgasm of my life.”

“I'm glad you liked it,” Sherlock murmured. 

He wasn't sure what they were supposed to do now. He slowly let go of John's cock. John looked up at him, eyes glossed over with what could only be described as want. No one had ever wanted Sherlock before. He could feel himself immersing in it, being wanted, being able to please someone, or, not just anyone, John Watson, his brilliant flatmate.

“Will you do it again in fifteen minutes?” John said, eager. “It might be a different... reaction, or something, it might be scientifically interesting...”

Sherlock put a hand on John's stomach, feeling the vibrations of the toy inside him. Pressing down, he watched Johns face as his eyes rolled back and he started breathing heavy again.

“Oh, don't worry about the science parts right now, my dear doctor. That is my area. You just sit back and enjoy the ride.”

ooo~ooo

When John woke up the next morning, he turned to find Sherlock sleeping next to him. Naked. It took him a moment to realize why the detective was naked next to him.

“I'm here because you swore you couldn't sleep without me,” Sherlock said and opened one of his turquoise eyes to peer at him. “Not that sleep seemed to be on the agenda anyway.”

With the heat temporarily taken care off, John's higher brain functions and usual anxieties returned.

“If you feel like I have taken advantage of you...” John began.

“Oh, please, I had a lovely time,” Sherlock smiled and put a hand on John's cheek. “To see you moan and squirm and growl on the table, on the floor, in my bed, in this bed... Truly remarkable.”

“Well, thank you, but it doesn't matter, I'm going on suppressants as soon as this rut-heat ends and that will be the relieve of, of...this.”

John did a gesturing between them. Sherlock made a disgusted noise.

“There will be no such thing!” he said and straightened his back. “Those things can give you all sorts of nasty things, like blood clogs and not to mention several types of cancer.”

“But if I don't...”

Sherlock silenced him with a long finger against John's lips.

“You are very rare,” he said, a low sultry tone to his voice. “I imagine it would be educational and fascinating to follow your rut-heat, as you refer to it, undisturbed in the future.”

Sherlock's eyes were glowing with scientific interest. John had a hard time feeling the same way. His heart sank and he got really quiet. Slipping past the detective, he sat on the edge of the bed and started looking for his clothes. His gut wrenched. 

“John?”

“Have you seen my underwear?” he said as he stood up, a big lump in his throat. He saw how it was. Sherlock had only seen him as his, his... science project!

Sherlock looked so lost, John almost forgave him on the spot. 

“John, did I say something wrong? You know I'm not good with these things... John?”

Sherlock snuck up close to him and breathed in his hair. John could feel the heat curling in his stomach, diminished but still potent and reluctantly real.

“Sherlock,” he said, breathless, “even though a heat with you sounds really, um, great, I just can't be your private study object. I need some sort of control, over my life. Some stability.”

“I could give that to you.”

John turned around, breathlessly, looking at the man in front of him, scentless but not sexless Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. His curly hair, pale skin, lean muscles, those moist eyes.

“You are beautiful, what do you want with an broken man like me?” he said, baring his soul, turning away again. “Maybe all I really am good for is to study, to find out what made me like this. I should check into a hotel and finish this heat on my own.”

Sherlock embraced him forcefully, knocking the breath out of the doctor.

“John,” he said, and just his name made John shudder. Sherlock was warm and close and his non-scent was soothing, calming on John anxious mind.

“I said I'm not good with these things,” Sherlock continued, holding him in his lanky arms. “ but please, stay. I want to see you grow, see you age. I want to stay with you, be with you. Through life. You are an incredible man. Bear in mind, good flatmates does not grow on trees.”

John laughed at that last attempt at a joke. Sherlock looked down on him, smiling one of his rare genuine smiles. John wished the detective to smile more often, it made him look more alive. 

“I guess I could go with that,” he said and blushed a little. “And the next chance to study me might come sooner than you think.”

“Oh?” Sherlock purred, delighted. “Sounds like an exiting opportunity.”

“Quite,” John agreed, feeling the warmth in his stomach spread through his whole body and engulf his mind completely.

**Author's Note:**

> What did you think? Let me know in the comments or by simply pressing kudos<3


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